


Anahardt Week 2018

by Nyaar



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Asexual Character, But he'll be happy eventually, F/M, Just broken people loving each other, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Must be, Rein is sad, Romance (?) I guess, Will take a while to make him laugh like the maniac he is, too many things happened to him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 07:23:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13899150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyaar/pseuds/Nyaar
Summary: Ana is back to Overwatch after her rogue years. She's a changed woman; older and wiser, she has finally figured out that urgent things are usually not the most important. Reinhardt is also a changed man; more somber and quiet after years of give and takes and mourning.An old couple's love story in seven days ;) Complete!





	1. Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story for the Anahardt week 2018 in Tumblr, where it was first published. I could have skipped the first two chapters and go directly to their little adventures, but I needed to give this a bit of context--even if short and a bit rushed to make it to the Anahardt week's deadlines.
> 
> Yet, the real, good context is in another multi-chapter fic called Wait for it. This story is a sort of alternative ending (?) for Wait for It x)
> 
> Also, this is un-betaed, and I apologise for that.

Ana was looking at her datapad, her frown getting deeper and deeper as she read the news. Terrorist attacks. Omnics out of control, companies hacked. Governments unable to keep the streets safe- and Overwatch, mentioned in the list of threats to them all.

Sometimes she would like to get back to the UN council and punch them in their faces. And she would, soon enough. If only- If only she could make her mind about leaving. She kept delaying her departure, her rifle forgotten against a corner.

Overwatch's fall was all over the news few days after she woke up in a hospital, one-eyed and presumed dead. The two commanders were MIA, presumed dead among the many, many casualties of the explosion at the headquarters. It shook her to the core to think so many friends had died, but there were no tears. If Amelie was with Talon, they must have had something to do with the explosion. Someone had betrayed their family, toyed with Jack and Gabriel, and she-she was utterly alone.

Of course, she trusted Reinhardt, and Torb and his family. Lana, Winston... They would never betray them-but with Overwatch disbanded, she could not ask anyone to go against the law to help her track Talon. Besides, the less they knew, the safer they would be. The last Ana wanted was to put them in danger. No, she would not contact them.

Being a lone hunter for years had a lot of advantages, and the ache of loneliness was soothed by her frantic activity to survive another day without food, money, or contacts. She became a ghost- a ghost that ended tracking another ghost. Two ghosts, actually. Ah, to see Jack and Gabriel alive brought her both happiness and pain. They reminded her of everything she had left behind. Everything she had never had. Everything she had been too busy to appreciate.

Yet, it had been her choice to remain alone, and her job at Gibraltar was done. She had warned Winston already, and she did not want to overextend her welcome. Torbjörn glared every time he saw her, disapproving. He had never been one to silence his thoughts, and the fact that she left them in the dark for so many years irked him. She could not blame him.

There was a noise at the door that could pass for an elephant walking, and she looked up if just to confirm she was right. A grey head of hair popped up in the doorway, looking at her from afar. He had done that every single day as if he still would not believe she was alive and there, but he had never come to talk.

She stayed put, eye back to the datapad as if he was some wild animal that could get easily scared. She would not push him after the hell he must have been through-It was only fair to let him come if he wanted to, which did not seem to be the case since he had left again.

Ana could not blame him, either. Not after seeing him _break_ at her return.

She had wanted to run away, that day. Run as fast as her legs would carry her-but she was frozen in place, taking in his inconsolable grief. It had melted her inside, had poured down her cheeks. It was impossible that he still loved her that much, but then, she--She had missed him so much. His voice, his smile, his warmth, his hands. Her home for years, her friend-and everything she had never allowed him to be. Her whole body had screamed at her to open up to him. Bloody let him in already, please, before it was too late. But she did not deserve him, and he did not deserve someone that had broken his heart again, and again.

A soft knocking took her away from her depressing thoughts, and Ana could not believe her eye when she saw Reinhardt at her very doorstep.

"May I?" He asked, hesitance clear in his voice. He was carrying something on his hands, and the smell betrayed it.

"Hot chocolate?" She made a gesture with her hand, inviting him in.

He sat close to her and yet too far to feel his warmth, leaving his precious cargo on the table by her side. There was only one mug with a spoon-a gift.

"Swiss chocolate. The one Jack used to smuggle everywhere he went, remember?"

She nodded. It was impossible to forget Jack producing milk or hot water during their missions and sharing a couple of mugs between them all.

With infinite care, Reinhardt put his hands in the front pocket of the oversized sweater he was wearing and produced a small package. At that point, her plan not to scare him off was damned, and Ana was actually looking at him open up the napkin-wrapped parcel. The German was much more silent than she remembered, much more somber, and it ached-it ached to see him reduced to this.

"Tiny marshmallows," she gasped at the sight of the little pink squishable squares. Now that was rare. "How did you get them?"

"Someone owed me one," he finally cracked a smile. "A big one. These come from Korea. There's a family that makes them by hand, there."

"This is… really sweet, Reinhardt," she smiled, fondly, reaching out for his hand without thinking. "Pun intended."

"I promised you long ago I'd treat you to a real _heiße schokolade_ ," he snorted softly, caressing her fingers with the thumb, but then he stopped abruptly. "Ah, but I'm missing the whipped cream, silly old me. Would you wait here, _maus_?"

Reinhardt disappeared before she could say anything, and Ana was left with the impression that he would never come back to her room. He popped back a moment later, however, a hand on his pocket and another holding a canister of whipped cream. The grown beard may help conceal his expression better, but he was still as easy to read as the day she met him. Being there was taking him a lot of effort; he was uncomfortable and heartbroken, yet he kept playing his part flawlessly.

"Unfortunately, I could not get a hold of anything better than this," he shook it vigorously for a moment, then left it by the mug and sat down again.

She did not deserve him-but there he was, stubbornly drawing near in spite of the circumstances. As he always had done. And bringing gifts, as if his mere presence was not enough to lit the room.

Ana stared at the chocolate mug, breathless, fighting back tears. Was this how he felt when she was so close, and yet so far?

"Would you prepare it for me?" Her voice cracked a bit, and she cleared her throat. "I don't want to ruin it after you put so much effort on--everything."

He picked several marshmallows and deposited them on top of the chocolate. Then, he shook the canister again and created a swirling mountain of whipped cream on top of it. To crown it all, he picked six marshmallows with all the care in the world and, one by one, he made a smiley on top of the cream.

"It looks fantastic," she forced herself to smile at him, grateful for the patch that covered half her face and the hair that obscured her good eye. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. It was- I didn't want to miss the chance again and-" He stopped talking, made a gesture with a hand. "Doesn't matter. Hope you like it."

"Can we share it?"

Reinhardt got up, hiding behind the fake smile plastered on his face, and shook his head.

"I'll see you around."

The door closed behind him, taking away the sun, the breeze, and everything that made the world right, and Ana covered her face with her hands.


	2. Date Night

(5 days later)

When Reinhardt sat down on an old dusty sofa in a meeting room and turned on the big screen there, he expected hours of peace and solitude. It was late, after all, and they were planning to leave Gibraltar in the following days; the others would be either busy or sleeping. It was all the same to him, really. He had grown used to being just Brigitte and himself, and the engineer needed to sleep more hours than he did, anyway.

However, said engineer had always had a sixth sense to know where to find him.

"Cannot sleep?" He asked, patting the sofa by his side.

"I miss the van. Is that weird?" She took her boots off and wriggled herself under one of his arms to lean against his side. Then, she stifled a yawn. Brigitte was a clever, caring woman on top of an amazing engineer and a funny person-one that loved warm cramped spaces to sleep in. She hummed in content when he snuggled her. "Why are we watching a 2D film, and what in the world are those huge robots?"

"Hush. It's a-"

"A classic, yeah. Everything old is a classic to you, Reinhardt," she snorted.

"Eh. This was filmed much before the omnics. It was ahead of its time."

"I don't even know how you can like this stuff."

It was difficult to explain. Well. Actually no. Balderich loved old crappy films nobody but him seemed to understand, and he made the whole platoon watch them with him all the time. At some point, it became a habit, much like bench-pressing or eating currywurst when they were not on duty.

His old friend was always extremely amused at their faces of despair and exasperation, and it was not until Reinhardt grew older that he understood how funny it was to mess with his whole team like this.

Suddenly, Winston cleared his throat from behind the couch.

"Would you mind if I joined?"

"Of course not, my friend. Suit yourself."

Five minutes later, Lena was sitting on the floor by Winston's side.

"You people-oh dear us. You let Reinhardt chose?" Torbjörn groaned from the doorstep, making him laugh. He walked to the couch and pushed her daughter's legs up so he could fit underneath-which was not difficult. The engineer poked at the buttons on his mechanical arm and grumbled something under his beard.

The film continued playing, big robots fighting terrible monsters of old-style computer animation and even worse plot. But Reinhardt would not complain-- films nowadays, the few that made it to the public, were all a pile of rubbish government propaganda.

Winston snickered every time they mentioned the names of the robots; if anyone knew pre-omnic history, that would be him. Lena kept asking questions and missing chunks of the film as she came and went restlessly, but her antics were somewhat not annoying, but a background buzzing-much like Brigitte's asleep breathing.

Ah, she always, always fell asleep at the best parts.

Something brushed the side of her head suddenly, and his heart leaped on his chest; but it was just Ana, sitting down at the armrest by his side. Silent, soundless, like a ghost. She was wearing a long thick sweater on top of a tank top, her silver hair braided over her shoulder as it seemed to be her custom now. She appeared calm in the same way the moon gazed over a lake on a windless night. Untouchable and imperturbable. And beautiful, so beautiful.

The film kept playing, but he could not bring himself back to watching it. All he could think about was grabbing her, sitting her on his lap, and keeping her there. Hug her again. Kiss her forehead, her hair. Oh, he had always dreamed of more, but he knew her after all those years- It would never happen. Damn, he had never needed it to happen. She had so much more to give than just her body, regardless of how much he had always liked it.

Something hard hit him in the elbow, and he saw Torb looking at him with that face of sympathy, passive-aggressive worry, and disapproval that somehow Brigitte had inherited from him.

 _I know_ , he wanted to say. _I'm a fool_.

It was not until after a while that he realized Lena was not around anymore. Nor Winston. The lights were dim, much more than when he had set them up, and the film was rolling the end credits. He must have been really absorbed in his thinking not to notice a large gorilla leaving his field of vision.

Torb was not there, either, but Brigitte was still snuggled under his arm. And Ana… she was silent by his side. A patient, still statue.

"I think it's time I-" He oofed softly when the engineer's elbow dug into his ribs. Her brown eyes looked intently at Ana. He was about to protest, but she elbowed him again. Of course, she would insist, having endured hell towing him around until he found his feet under himself again, but he had known enough shame for the week already.

"No, I am going to bed," she said in the end, pulling herself away from his arm. "You guys stay here and talk."

Reinhardt gaped. Had they somehow planned to hijack his utterly random movie night to set him up with Ana? He spared a look at her and found, not without horror that there was a twinkle of amusement in her eye. She knew. She knew and had decided to play along.

Shit.

"Brigitte!" He said among teeth, turning to the engineer. "You were supposed to be on my side."

"And I am, old man," she patted him on the shoulder. "Now, be a darling," she smirked, and disappeared from the room, leaving them alone and in silence.

"The chocolate was really nice," Ana's voice was soft and calm, soothing. "I wish you would have shared it with me."

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down. He had fled from her room, yes. The chocolate had seemed a good idea until she had grabbed his hand. It had been an innocent gesture, yet- it was the first time she touched him since they had met again. It was both sweet and a dagger through his heart. Ridiculous, he knew. He did not only get older over the years, it seemed.

"So you made this little raffle to tell me that?"

"It was Torb's idea, actually. Always getting his nose in everyone's life." she half-smiled, handling her long braid. "But I'm grateful this time because I was afraid to talk to you and he pushed me into it."

His stomach dropped. Oh, boy. There were many things she may want to talk about--her lack of contact during years, her sudden return, his meltdown ten days ago, their nonexistent relationship- and all of them made him shudder.

"Let me explain wh-"

"No," he got up straight away and gave her the back. "I don't want to know why you stayed away. I don't want to know why you decided to come back. You did, and that's- I'm blessed enough."

"Yet, you are upset and angry."

His hands itched to punch something, to lift a barbell. Anything. He did not want to have any conversation that involved them, but he could not run again. Even if everything else had been stripped from him, he still had his honour--and he promised her. He promised he would be his friend or anything she needed for as long as she wanted. But he just- he just-

"I don't think I can keep my promise any longer," he said in the end, pushing the words outside as if they weighed a ton each. "So--this is it."

Ana grabbed him from behind; arms barely circling his waist, forehead just below his shoulder blades--and he almost melted to the ground.

"Maus, don't," he covered her little hands with one of his. "I'm serious, I-"

"Please, hear me out," she interrupted him in a bit of a panic. Her fingers curled, scratching his belly with the short nails. "Then, I leave it in your hands. I promise."

He made a thin line with his mouth and glued his eye to the screen in front of him. He did not want to hear it, he was positive about it. Yet, he was an idiot when Ana was concerned, and he would be until the day he died.

"These years away from everything I hunted down those that broke our family apart," she started after a bit of silence. "It's a long story, and--you know I'm not very good at telling stories. To make it short, I'd say recently I met someone-gained some intel, and I decided to find Winston. Let him know Overwatch was destroyed from the inside."

"Overwatch died with you," he barely restrained himself from caressing her hands. "You kept Gabriel and Jack in check. You listened to Angela's complaints, growled at Moira when she stepped out the line. Taught Genji and Jesse, and Fareeha, and Brigitte. What do you think happened when Jack came back alone?"

His voice had lost its strength as he talked. It had been years, Ana was alive, and yet-yet he wished he could erase that year from his memory altogether. He may have not been in active at the time, but it Overwatch was his only home. His only family. And it disintegrated literally in front of his eyes.

"You made me laugh during all that," she rubbed her forehead against him, softly. "You kept me afloat and sane so I could do what the team needed--and I never thanked you for it."

"There's no need. I just wish I had been there with you and Jack. Where I should have been. Then, maybe things would have been different."

"We would not be here today if not for that," she made a sound as if she was going to say something, but had decided against it in the last moment. Her fingers curled over his old sweater. "I would not have had an idiot coming to my room with chocolate and- I would not have realized how much I had missed him."

"You have always wanted me around," Reinhardt snorted, letting his head fall. "If only for a while. Then, you rushed to the next problem. The next training. The next mission. And then, you came back when it suited you. Just like now."

There was a moment of silence, and it was more deafening than the loudest of the yells. He had never been this honest, this direct. But it was now or never. There were no more grey areas, no more time after decades of backs and forths. Not after she died on him.

Break it or mend it.

"You are right. I've loved you for years," she said in a low voice, unaware of the lightning strike effect her words had on him. "And I have always pushed you away. I had too many things to do, people to care about, Fareeha. The war that I wanted to win at all costs. And fear. Fear that I would get all the team killed for your sake, just like I did for Sam. Fear of being involved with someone again after our relationship failed."

Reinhardt closed his eyes until he managed to draw breath. Sometimes he had dared to think that she had feelings for him, too, but she never said- She had never explained-

"Everything else was more urgent, everything else had priority. I was blinder with two eyes than I am now," Ana continued, her voice cracking every now and then. "I know I have no right to come now and tell you this, after everything you've been through, but, if you would have me-"

He turned around and pulled her into an embrace, hugging the air out of her. Her hands found his shoulders, the base of his neck, and he felt like choking. Choking on his own fears, on a thin thread of hope, on her scent and all the love he always had for her.

"Are you sure of this?" He said under his breath. "Ana, if you- I can't-"

She kissed him.

Their second kiss in thirty years, and it tasted of salt and sorrow, of time lost. She was totally out of practice --as he was, who was he fooling?-- but it was the best kiss he could ever hope for.

When she pressed her forehead to his, he was laughing and sobbing at the same time.


	3. Games

(Three days later)

It was not the best idea, but there was no food delivery for outlandish organizations yet. And it was not just food–they were in dire need of medical supplies and spare parts to patch up their gear. And money. Oh dear. They really needed money.

"Do you even know how to fish?" Torbjörn raised an eyebrow, and Ana shrugged.

"How difficult can it be?"

"Tell Reinhardt that," Fareeha cackled, crossing her arms as she glanced smugly at him.

She had taken some days off her job after Brigitte called her, and Winston had allowed her to join their merry band as a part-time member despite Ana's grumbling. There was nothing she could do, however, since her actual job was as bad as being a soldier itself–and Ana would rather have her with them.

Fareeha had grown into such a lovely strong woman; Ana could not be more proud. Well, maybe if she had become a civil doctor, or a civil engineer, or a public anything, really. She snorted. It was not to be, of course, growing up among legends.

"Oh dear, the two of you together," Torbjörn rolled his eyes. "Right, I'm going to get us some food. Someone care to come with me?"

"I'll go, papa. But only if the loser team does something for the winning team."

"Ah, a dare?" Reinhardt raised an eyebrow from the bench where he had been sitting playing dice with Torb. "I've plenty of ideas for my armour that needs a good engineer. Or two."

Brigitte flexed her strong arms at him and grinned.

"Prepare to eat dust, old man."

Ana could only smile at their banter. Reinhardt and the Lindholms were a family in their own right, with their private jokes and their all-round camaraderie. It warmed her heart to see that they had stuck together. However, what really touched her was to see sadness and grief chipping away from her old friend as time went by.

"Ah, I'll go with you two, or the only thing you would catch is a cold, " Fareeha hid her eyes behind a hand and shook her head.

\----------

 

It was fucking cold at the Pyrenees, even though Ana was clad in old winter clothes and only her eye was showing. Snow painted the whole forest white, reminding her of their lost Swiss base. The ground crunched under her boots, but it was so cold she did not sink. It was a different story for Reinhardt, but he did not seem to mind one bit, striding by their side with that twinkle in his eyes that meant he was enjoying whatever he was doing.

"This's a good spot," he said, stopping under a pine once they reached the frozen lake and making Fareeha sigh.

"No, of course it's not," she looked around, eyebrows frowning in concentration. She had a wool beanie over her head and a thick scarf that still let her face show. It showed that she had grown up in Switzerland, after all. "Come on. You want to win that silly bet of yours or not?"

"We cannot lose," he snorted. "You've ever seen Torb anywhere near a kitchen? He would not find anything to eat even if it bit him."

"Maybe. But he has Brigitte."

"She will find something to scavenge for parts, I don't doubt that."

"Play it safe," Fareeha shrugged and started walking again. "That's what I always say. Come on further in."

They kept walking around the lake until she was satisfied with a place nearby a rocky cliff and several trees.

"I'll make a hole in the middle of the lake and try there, but you two stay here. This should be safe from ice, from water, and from … anything else that can go wrong."

"Ah, don't worry about us. We'll be fine, right, Ana?"

"You may be, but I'm freezing here," she moved closer to Reinhardt in the hopes to steal some of his heat. "Can we get done here fast and go back, please?"

Torbjörn had made for them some extremely rudimentary fishing poles that they split between them, as well as some raw meat to attach to them. She had heard that people used to fish with insects and worms, which would not have happened on her watch even if they have had them handy, thankyouverymuch.

Fareeha went on the ice slowly while Reinhardt grabbed a fallen tree and pulled it closer to their spot. He pushed the snow down and sat down with a puff of breath. Then, he patted his thighs.

"Come here, I'll warm you up."

Ana turned towards him with an arched eyebrow and hoping? wishing? she had heard wrong, and his face sobered in a moment. Then, he looked behind himself, then back to her. Confused.

"What did I do?"

Oh. Of course he did not mean it that way. Ana let go a relieved breath and walked towards him, sitting on his lap but favouring his left leg.

"I was overcautious. Sorry," she reached for his back with a gloved hand and rubbed his worn out parka. "Should have known better."

"Why? What would you think I could possibly–?" He could not even finish the sentence, as if he could just not grasp the idea. And it was right. He was right. He would totally not mean it that way.

"Not you. But I'm old, now, and I've lived long among men. I tend to think the worst of most innocent comments, and I'm hardly wrong."

Reinhard gasped audibly.

"You thought I– Here, of all places?"

Ana laughed and pulled her scarf a bit so she could poke his cheek with her nose–that was all she dared to get out with that cold.

"That's not to say–Well," he looked down, mumbled. "I know you don't like it. But if you ever wanted–And we are in a better place than this, of course…"

"This is how you lured the ladies at the base into your bed?" She teased, impossibly amused by his embarrassment. "I was expecting more winking and flexing. Some boasting, at least."

"Ah, you're evil incarnate, _maus_ ," he chuckled and flexed his strong arms before grabbing her in an embrace.

\-------

 

It was only when Fareeha came back to them with a bag full of fishes that they realized they had not even baited their hooks. Fuming, she stopped in front of them both, hands on her hips.

"Apologies. It would seem we," Reinhardt cleared his throat, "lost track of time?"

"I don't even– I can't deal with you two," she let go a long breath, but the corners of her mouth were curling up into a smile. Ana did not have to tell her anything; she knew the moment she saw them in the same room– and she laughed and teased them like she was fifteen all again. She was happy for them. All were, in truth. It was a bit scary, the pressure to get it right, but she was not planning to screw up.

"Oh, you caught plenty of fishes," Ana was surprised when she peeked into the bag. "You're really good at this."

"Yeah, be grateful Gabe taught me," Fareeha raised an eyebrow, then shook her head. "Let's hope it's enough."

They had not walked more than fifteen minutes when Ana turned around. Oh, she may be missing an eye, but the one she had worked exceptionally well – and her ears were as sharp.

"What–?"

She put her index finger over her mouth and looked around. Something was moving. Something big–Ana grabbed Reinhardt by the arm to stop him so she could damn listen. Big. Heavy. Coming their way. But where?

"Stay here," he said with a calm voice, and broke into a run towards their right, charging head-on against a bear that came running towards them. A bear.

"Do you think you can take me? Keep coming, then!" His voice echoed on the mountain as he ran, arms extended.

What in the actual–

Ana was about to run after him when suddenly the bear turned to the side and backed off several yards. Reinhardt stopped running and put his hands on his hips as the bear huffed and walked in circles around itself. Nervous, scared. But not scared enough to leave. It wanted something.

Ana grabbed Fareeha's arm –no way she was leaving her in the middle of a bear territory– and got closer to the German with short, slow-paced steps. There may be other bears around. Or cubs. What she found, though, was the corpse of an elk.

"Ah, maybe it's trying to defend its food."

"Can we take it with us? The kill is fresh," Fareeha crouched on the ground to inspect it, making the bear more agitated. "We can feed us all properly with it."

"Give it the fishes, then," Reinhardt had not moved an inch from where he was, not he turned his head towards them. "Must have woken up quite recently, and may not be able to hunt more if we take its food."

She did not seem enthusiastic about giving away the fruit of her hard labour, but chucked the bag far away in their opposite direction to lure the animal from them. It did not seem thrilled to change preys, either, but Reinhardt charged against it again – and this time it just ran into the woods.

The crusader walked back towards them as if scaring bears away was something he had been doing all his life after breakfast.

"So," Ana pocketed her hands on her coat, "I sense a story about Bavarian bears that you have not told us about."

"A story?" He stretched his back and his arms for a bit then grabbed the dead animal and put it over his shoulders. "If a bear runs to you, you scare it off. That's just common sense. What story is to that?"

"You didn't arm-wrestle any bear?" Fareeha snickered.

"Me? No, not really," he raised his eyebrows but remained otherwise serious. "But my general wrestled a bear to the ground and then gained its friendship. Balderich was–"

 

\--------

 

When they arrived at the cabin where they would be hiding for some days, the bastion that Torb had somehow salvaged greeted them with a happy chirp. Reinhardt had been a second away from throwing the elk at the omnic as if it was a surrogate hammer, but he restrained himself at the last moment. Ana did not like it either; they had just fought too many of them to be comfortable in the same room with one, even if both Brigitte and Torb swore it was inoffensive.

"What in the mother forge is that?" Torbjörn jumped down a very rudimentary chair to look at their catch as the crusader put it on the ground.

"Is that an elk? Please, tell me you didn't fight it to the death."

"We stole it from a bear he scared away, which is way better," Fareeha left her parka to dry on a hanger, and Brigitte turned towards her with huge eyes.

"And you let him? Fareeha! We've talked about this!"

Ana smiled at their bickering –sometimes it felt like they were fifteen again– and walked towards the bonfire at the centre of the room.

"So, what did you bring?" She asked, taking the scarf off and leaving it hanging over her shoulders. The fire was not roaring, yet the cabin was cozy–a relief it was from the cutting cold on the outside.

"Well," Torb shrugged. "There was nothing to eat around. But we found an old OR15 chassis, so at least there's that for parts."

"Hah, I knew it," Reinhardt chuckled as he took his winter clothes off. He threw them nearby without much care and sat down on the ground slowly, stretching his legs close to the fire.

"It's in quite a good condition despite the snow, it totally should count as our contribution."

"You just don't want to lose," Fareeha chuckled, leaving her parka on a hanger on the wall.

"Bah, you guys cheated anyway by robbing a poor bear its lunch…"

"Fareeha exchanged the fishes she got for the elk, so we all have food," Ana said, almost purring in happiness because of the heat. "It's fair game."

"I'd say we decide it after lunch," Torbjörn put another log to the fire. "I can roast it, but I don't know how to prepare it. You know, it's all fur and skin at the moment."

A thick silence descended at the cabin, broken just by the crackling of the flames. Between all of them, they have probably killed the same amount of people and omnics that could live in a small town, yet they have never had to deal with anything worse than a whole chicken already prepared, food-wise.

"Balderich never taught you how to–?"

"Nop."

"Gabriel gave you any pointers–?"

"Just for gutting fish."

Ana broke into a laugh. How–How had she lived these years away from her family of idiots, it was a wonder. She had just survived, that was clear. If only. If only she could get Jack to join them again–that would be great. There had to be a way. He needed to stop being alone, too, get someone to help him grab the Reaper and see if there was anything they could do for him.

There had to be a way.

"Fine," Reinhardt let go a long breath, and the rest looked each other with infinite relief. "I'll see what I can do."

He pushed himself up, avoiding putting his weight on his right leg as much as possible, and then limped towards the elk.

"Ah, let me give it a try first," Fareeha put herself between the large man and their wannabe food. "Gut a fish, gut an elk, right?"

"How difficult can be to chop this thing to pieces, after all?" Brigitte squeezed his arm. "Just–We'll ask you if we need any help."

The two of them put on their winter clothes, grabbed the animal and pulled it outside among groans. When the door closed behind them, Reinhardt let go a small chuckle.

"You rascal," Ana raised her eyebrows at the mischievous look on his face.

"They may be thirty, but they still need to learn how to fend for themselves," he shrugged and went back to his spot on the ground. The limp was still there, though quite less noticeable; Cold and damp weather had never helped his bad knee, after all.

"So, when are you going to let me and dear Angela do something about your knee?" Torb threw at him the couple of pillows that were part of the cabin decoration.

"Never," he propped his leg on them and leaned on the cabin's wooden wall. His eye looked at her and she smiled warmly at his mute request to sit down with him. Ana knew that if it depended on him she would be on his lap all day, but he asked for interaction, gave her the chance to back off.

She knelt by his side and ran a hand through his wet silver hair, combing it backward. He purred, grinning at her and completely ignoring the engineer, who groaned.

"I'm not freaking carrying you when you cannot walk, you hear me?"

The door flinging open saved him from answering and they stared at one Jesse McCree dusted with snow and with an amused look on his face.

"Well, look at that. I thought I've got the whole pack," he turned a bit to show the two woman by his side, "and yet, I was missing the loveliest lady of them all."

Ana waved a hand at him when he bowed, taking off his silly cowboy hat.

"It's good to see you, Jesse."

He was a grown man now, strong, confident, but still with that twinkle in his eye. What she was not prepared to see was his mechanical left forearm. They all seemed to cheat death these days, though some seemed to have luckier than others. Still, she was happy to see him back to them. Since Overwatch blew up from the inside, they needed to have as many allies they could trust by their side–even if the only reason he was there was that she had information about Reaper.

The cowboy raised an eyebrow when he noticed where Ana's hand was, and whistled.

"Wow, it was about time," he slow-clapped at them, and Reinhardt threw one of the pillows at him with terrible, terrible aim, laughing. "Well, well. News aside, I thought that meeting in a cabin surrounded by nothing would suck without some proper food, so I've brought gifts."

Jesse took off the backpack he was wearing and left it on the ground, just to show them a handful of half-frozen ready-to-bake pizzas wrapped in transparent plastic.

Even the bear could hear their cheers.

_Play of the game._


	4. Ink

(2 days later)

"I didn't remember how beautiful your coat-of-arms tattoo was," Ana said quietly, running a hand over Reinhardt's bare back. They were alone for the night, something that had not happened for years–so many years he could not even remember when had been the last time.

They were at a bed-and-breakfast in the smallest village before the frontier between France and Italy, on their way to get a plane that would get them close to their old watchpoint in Madagascar. The place was vile, dirty, and the bed was older than he was–yet it held them, and that was all he cared about.

Ana shifted on the small –for him– mattress and curled one of her slender legs against his side. If anything, the horrible room was warm despite the cold rain falling outside, and she was wearing soft pajama pants and a large checkered old shirt that could almost fit him. She would not bare herself, but anything that made her happy made him happy, too.

"I never got to see it that much. When did you get it done?"

Reinhardt took a moment to answer, but only because he was almost purring under her hands. He had dreamed of this so many times that he was tempted to pinch himself to make sure he was awake.

"When Gibraltar 1 was destroyed I lost the pieces that were left of my gryphon armour," he snorted softly. "My plan was to get them restored or remade somehow after the crisis, wear them again."

"I remember that armour," she caressed the nape of his neck, rubbed one of his shoulders. "But I didn't know you had kept some parts after you remade it with Torb."

"Couldn't bring myself to scrap the Crusade symbols, knowing they were no more."

Losing them had been like the last blow to his previous life. It had made him feel really wretched at the time, but years of bringing his friends alive through his stories had turned his loss into something he enjoyed to share.

"So you got a tattoo of the Crusade's coat-of-arms, instead. I see," her hand went up to his head for a moment, messing up his hair just to get back down and trace the gryphons on his right shoulder blade.

Her fingers traveled down his column, giving him the goosebumps. She would not understand it, but he was dying there. Dying for her hands to be everywhere on his body, and his hands on hers, his mouth tracing every inch of her body–yet he laid on his stomach and let her pet him, discover him as slowly as she wanted. Reinhardt could not remember when she said she was not was not interested in making out with anyone, man or woman, but he could recall clearly Torb's shocked face–it surely matched his. Giving love was something intrinsic in his nature, something he enjoyed providing and receiving, so her reticence was something he could only respect. And that he did, wholeheartedly. He could lay there forever, immobile and at her command, as long as she was with him.

"It's amusing that I can remember most of your scars," she said, hand coming back to the middle of his back then to the left. "But this one feels familiar, yet I don't seem to–" Reinhardt's breath caught as her fingers traced a triangular pattern between the left shoulder blade and the column. Of course, her keen eye would notice. Damn. "It looks like– It's– It is the scope of my rifle…"

Her voice had lost its strength as she talked, transferred somewhat to the hand that was now covering the scar tattoo.

"It's something I got done after–well. Brigitte gave me the idea."

On the right side of his back, the crusaders; far from his heart, so his honour and sense of justice would not be clouded by his feelings. On the left, the mark Ana left on him. A bullet through his chest–a scar symbolizing everything that never was and yet that shaped him.

"I'm sorry," her voice came muffled, cracked on the edges. A puff of warmth on his back as she kissed the scar broke his heart all over again–if only, this time it broke for her.

"You are here with me now," he reached out. In his prone position, he could not hug her as he wanted to, and so he rubbed her legs instead. "I don't care about anything else."

She said nothing else, and carefully, really careful not to throw her off balance, Reinhardt shifted and turned around. He scooped her up effortlessly and sat her on his lap. She did not move, did not talk, barely breathed.

For years, every time he saw a twinkle of affection in her eyes it suddenly changed into the strongest steel. She pushed back with such strength that deterred him of seeking her for a while– until she dragged him out whatever place he was hiding. And back to square one.

Had she felt remorse, sadness? Anger at herself? At him, for keep coming back despite all odds? How many times had she crumbled in her room? How many had she hidden from him to keep her resolve?

He had never stopped to think about it, no. He wished she would have told him her reasons in the first place, though, instead of just giving him the cold shoulder. Maybe it would have been easier for both.

"Don't be sad, _maus_ ," he kissed the top of her head. "I love you." Oh, boy, he had said it, at last. He grinned like an idiot. "I love you, Ana."

It sounded just like he always hoped it would.

"And you're an idiot for it," she sighed. Without turning around, her small hands found his cheeks, caressed his beard. "My idiot."

"All yours, for all the time you want me," he closed his eyes for a moment, leaning on her hands. "Which I hope is lots."

Ana turned around just enough to let him see her face. She had taken off the patch, and he caressed the scar on her cheek with a thumb. The eye was just not there, and the hole it had left filled him with dread. So close. It had been so close.

He kissed the tattoo under her eye, softly.

"Ah, it tickles! What–"

"It protected you when I couldn't. I'm grateful," he smiled a bit, pushing the locks away from her dear face. She was as beautiful as ever, eye or not eye, and he had to use all his self-control not to kiss her breathless right there.

"I haven't told you who shoot me."

"If you tell me, I will kill them," he said. It was as simple as that, really, no matter if she pulled at his beard. "Unless you took care of them yourself, that's it."

She snorted softly, her shoulders arching as if carrying a heavy burden.

"No, I did not. And I would not want to kill her, either," her voice dragged as if the weight became heavier with each word. "I learned things during my rogue years, things I'd like to tell you, but…"

"You can tell me anything that worries you, Ana. You know that."

She smiled, but her eye was still sad.

"Now it's not the time," she leaned against his chest, and Reinhardt wrapped his arms around her. It made him uneasy to think she was hiding something important from him, something that tied her to her years away, but he did not want that to ruin their night by pondering.

"What's the time for, then?" He asked instead.

"Sleep," Ana raised an eyebrow, looked up at him. "Unless you have plans–that don't involve me taking my clothes off, that's it."

"Oh, damn. I thought maybe, maybe, we could watch a film while I give you a massage."

"You give massages, now?" Her eye twinkled in mischief even before she continued talking. "You should have told me this years before, lieutenant."

"You should have paid attention. My massages were a legend at the base," he raised his chin, fighting a chuckle. "I may still show you why…"


	5. A moment of peace and quiet

(The next day)

"This place is amazing," Brigitte looked up and around, mouth hanging open, and Ana smiled a bit. She hated shopping malls. She hated them with passion – full with entitled noisy people buying things they did not need. "There's virtually everything. How–"

She spin around while people sneered at them. It was not a posh place, far from it, but their clothes were not exactly new–or clean. Instead of wearing the patch, Ana was hiding her eye with a sticky bandage and walked arm-in-arm with Reinhardt. They had found him a pair of old rectangle-shaped glasses to help conceal the scar on his face and a baggy sweater. Torb was also covering his arms and had equipped a mechanical hand. They looked like a strange, dysfunctional family–exactly what they were.

"Still not sure this is a good idea, Ana," the engineer snorted, hands on his pockets. "It's likely we're persons of interest around the globe."

"We need to buy provisions," she put one of her silver locks in place in front of her face. "No delivery for people like us, and Jesse is not going to come after us every time we are starving in the mountains."

"Also, better us than Winston," Brigitte said without really paying them much attention. "I can't believe there are shops this big. Look at all those aisles with mountain gear–I could live there, dear me."

"What I don't understand is where are we going to get the money to buy anything."

"Leave that to me," Ana bit her lower lip. "And, Reinhardt?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry."

He looked at her with a mixture of worry and fear, which was precisely what she was expecting. She crossed her right foot in front of his left, making him stumble and land with all his weight on his bad leg-–which gave away. No push needed, no additional kick.

Shit. That was not what she had in mind.

He hit the ground on his knees and she winced at the heartfelt, pained, _real_ curse. Was his knee this bad, nowadays? Sure, it ached after them trekking up and down the snowed mountain with the elk, but later on, he had seemed fine.

Ah, well. She better make it count, then.

"Oh my god! "I'll get help!" She cried out loudly, and rushed away, mixing among the passer-byes until she found a hiding place.

From a column flanked by palm trees, Ana saw a handful of people getting close to them, trying to help the poor old man –Ah, it felt bad to steal from good-hearted people, she pursed her mouth, yet she approached them from the back. It was easy to snatch several wallets, her fingers as nimble as they were when she was traveling alone. But pick-pocketing was an art she had learned long ago, much before she joined Overwatch–and it had put food in her mouth more times she could count already.

Once the bounty was secure in her pockets, Ana made her way towards her friends and knelt by Reinhardt's side.

"I'm sorry," she whispered in his ear, running her free hand through his silver hair. He frowned at her, more hurt than in anger, and yelped when Brigitte stretched his leg the way Ana had taught her (and half the base) to do it. "I'll make it better. Just a little longer."

"Ah, my wallet's gone!" Someone cried out, and several others suddenly echoed their outrage around them.

Torbjörn was livid, throwing Ana daggers through his eyes, and Brigitte looked at the agitated people without understanding what was going on.

Security was soon over them asking questions and showing off their rifles and shiny badges, and they were not convinced it was not a con until they saw the scar running all the length of Reinhardt's knee–just as Ana predicted.

"Shaming a soldier of the Crisis!" Torb growled, finger-pointing at the guards. "There's no respect nowadays, not an inch! How dare you? I should give you all a beating right now, bloody–"

A couple of the guards helped Reinhardt up, not without a good measure of huffing and panting. There were still a lot of people looking at them, but those affected by the thieving were already marching with security to put a denounce. They just need to hold the charade a bit longer, and it would all be good and done.

"We can bring a wheelch–"

"NEVER," the German roared as they made their way towards a bench, limping badly. Whether he was in more pain than she expected or he was playing along, Ana did not know, but she grabbed him by the waist, hooking her fingers on his trousers.

He let himself fall on to the bench, and Ana fumbled on her pockets for a moment. Then, she stabbed the side of his thigh with one of her rifle's darts.

"Easy," she murmured as he yelped and writhed away. She always had a couple of darts on her, just in case. After all she had lived through, there was no such thing as being over-prepared. "Stop squirming. Are you ten, now?"

"You can be such an arsehole sometimes," he groaned, hands squeezing the borders of the bench as she rubbed the biotic liquid towards the knee. It was swollen, she noticed, but it was too soon to be due to the fall. Knowing him, it was likely that he been eking out the prosthetic joint for too many years– which would explain why Torb was after him at the Pyrenees' cabin. "What was that, anyway?"

"A biotic dart for my rifle. I need to mimic the rifle somewhat to release the contents."

Reinhardt did not seem to grasp his mind around the science of a rifle shooting biotic rounds, but he did not ask. That gave Torb the opportunity to complain he was waiting for.

"I totally hate you, Ana," he rubbed his frown and sat on the ground without any ceremony, glaring at them, at her, and at the world in general.

"I know. Glad to sacrifice my honor to keep you all feed and clothed," she almost smiled, eyebrow raised. "Brigitte, come here, darling."

Her almond eyes grew wide when she saw the pile of cash on her hand.

"Oh, boy," she took it and stashed it in her pockets. "That was sick," she cackled, sitting down by her side. "I wish I had thought of something like this when we were on the road…"

Reinhardt glared at her with an animosity unheard of in him, and Ana patted him on the arm.

"Please go now and buy us some clothes," from her pocket, she produced a piece of paper. "Ideas and sizing, here. We'll buy some food for today, then wait in the van. Hurry up, before they look into the security footage."

Torb paled even further if that was possible, and she winked at him. Ana loved the grumpy man to pieces, but she loved even more messing with him. Brigitte took the paper and read it, nodding every now and then.

"Come, papa, let's go to the mountain clothes' store first!"

\--------

 

Once they were gone, Ana took one of Reinhardt's hand in hers and squeezed it. He was looking at the ground, crossed, and she caressed him with her thumbs. Unfortunately, they did not have much time to be fooling around. The guards would figure it out sooner or later, and they better be far away from there when it happened.

"You recovered enough for a little stroll to the van?" She asked softly, eyebrows raised. "I can always give you another shot."

"I'm fine," he grumbled under his breath, looked at her from the corner of his eye, then pursed his mouth. "But you know I don't like when the end justifies the means. What would be next? Killing a city's worth of population to end Talon?"

"I think that's exaggerating a bit."

"Is it? Where do you put the line?" He took his hand away and crossed his arms. "Do you think Brigitte and myself had any money while we were traveling? You think we didn't go hungry–that the van didn't break down?"

Ana made a face. Of course, he was more bothered about manipulating people and stealing from them than about anything she could have done to him personally.

"Overwatch existed to make the world a better place," he continued. "Not to abuse others with our power."

She looked down for a moment, a tiny smile playing on her lips.

"Let me remind you that you're talking to a sniper. I live to take advantage of situations and turn them for the greater good," she said. "But I've always admired your integrity."

"So, you think I'm an idiot," he snorted. "Nothing new."

"My idiot, though."

He pursed his mouth, unconvinced. It was not the first time they discussed similar events–-Reinhardt had always been very vocal every time he had disagreed with Jack's or Gabriel's orders. Even the UN's orders. Maybe that was part of the reason why they decided to retire him despite everyone's protests. In the end, he let go a long and disapproving breath.

"Fine," she said. "I'm sorry for involving you in my scheming."

"No, you're not."

"I am _somewhat_ sorry," she rubbed his knee softly. "The plan was to make you fall on your side. I didn't imagine your leg would give up that quickly, but I should have known you would not take proper care of yourself."

"You maim me, and it is my fault?" He gasped, baffled. "And what's worse, you main me and I don't even get a kiss to make it better," he rose his chin with a pout. Oh. OH. Sixty-something years and his grandiloquent speech thrown to the bin in an instant.

Ana had not decided if to laugh or to smack him on the head when she spotted security coming around, looking for someone. She wound her braid around her neck and covered her head with the hoodie. Then, she got up and between Reinhardt's legs and hugged him for dear life, kissing his head as her eye scanned around from the safety of the hood.

"This is also good," his voice came muffled from her chest. His large hands grabbed her back, and he sighed. "I can die here. Happily."

"Hush!"

She stroke his back and his neck and if he was comforting him. Security spared a glance at them, and Ana put on a sad stance as she patted the German softly – the same German that was grinning like the big idiot he was pressed against her breasts.

It was a moment. A perfect moment, even if she did not appreciate anyone invading her private parts. His hands always held her in such an enthusiastic way that it felt like they were going to melt together. She treasured that feeling of need, of warmth belonging after years of starving herself of his touch.

The security officers and their rifles walked past them and forward, and Ana ran her hands through his neck down to his jaw to end cupping up his face. He was adorable with his glasses crooked and little tufts of hair falling over his forehead. Not to say the nice shade of pink on his cheeks.

Which was ridiculous, because his boisterous-self had slept with half the globe and never had shown any sort of shyness about his conquests or any mention of sex –unless she was involved. She had loved it since the first day she learned she could make him blush.

"So, mmm… your leg is all better know, isn't it? Maybe I should have done this instead of using one of my rounds," she chuckled, scratching his beard softly.

He let go a hearty laugh, the first one she heard since she came back to him, and squeezed his face back in.


	6. Travel

(2 days later)

There was nothing better than traveling for pleasure. Or so people said. Reinhardt had many things he would rather do instead of going from here to there and visit, what? A museum? Rocks and monuments? It was much more interesting to visit places to taste different foods and drinks, maybe have a walk through the countryside-- But, of course, he would go with Ana to the end of the world if she asked him to-–which she had.

They had split their small group the same day Ana had received a datapad message. She had then insisted on taking him for a stroll; they would meet everyone again at the Watchpoint in Madagascar in a week's time.

Apparently, Ana had a friend she wanted him to meet and introduce to Overwatch. Reinhardt did not consider himself the most appropriate person for the job, but it was either him or Torb–and they wanted an ally, not another enemy.

He was not very sure how to feel about the resurrection of their old team– sure, it was great to have his friends around once again, but the new Overwatch needed financial and logistical help if they wanted to take down an organization like Talon. Hell, they had been trying for years when they had the UN backing them, and see how well it all ended. Also, there was another problem. Ana insisted that their downfall, even the explosion of the Swiss base, was something orchestrated from the inside, but Reinhardt trusted all of the agents that had answered the recall with his life. Yet, he also did back then–apart from Moira, of course.

Ana's mysterious friend, soldier this-or-another, was the icing on the cake. She said he was a vigilante; Reinhardt had heard from Winston he was a terrorist.

"You seem quite somber. Something troubling you?" Ana's voice broke into his thoughts.

The plane sits were not large enough for him and he had ended strapped at the cargo bay, but she had decided to sit with him so he was not feeling lonely.

"Ah, it's nothing, _maus_ ," he hid his nose on her dear hair, which always made him feel able to take on the whole world, terrorists or not. "I'm bored, that's all."

"We are close. I can feel it in the air," she smiled. "When we're finished, and if there's time, I'll show you around Cairo. Remember what I told you about Muslim laws?"

He nodded, and she put some sunscreen on her hands–then, on his face. Eek. His poor beard had done nothing to deserve such punishment, but her fingers were like butterflies, and he ended up relaxing under her ministrations. His arms were next since he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and he rolled his eyes when she daubed his ankles too, in case the socks slid down.

He did not mind the sun. At least, not when he was not clad in the armour. He remembered his time at Gibraltar fondly-- it was going to be difficult for Egypt to surpass the heat there. If anything, he would miss his sunglasses.

The cargo bay opened in the middle of a freaking desert, and a puff of dry, sandy heat made his stomach drop. On the horizon, salt-like dunes piled near a baby blue pond of water with palm trees. To their right, some old yellowish buildings crumbled a little more every time the desert breeze honoured them with its presence.

The desert was beautiful, in a way. He was just not sure which way was that. It was definitely different from anywhere he had ever visited. Too dry, too hot. Too sandy.

"Ana? I thought there was a city?"

"There is a village, we're just not going there," she chirped and put a cap on his hand. "If anyone asks, we are married tourists on holidays."

Married on holidays with Ana.

He grinned and put the cap on. Who cared if they were at the desert.

They walked towards the oasis, sand crunching under their feet. It was strangely solid and different from the sand on a beach, but it reflected light and heat with the same ease. As they got closer to the water, the sand became muddier and lost its yellowish appearance. It seemed impossible that plants would grow there, yet there was a carpet of green peppered with palm trees.

Ana sat under one of them close to the water, her back to the impossible forest of palms, and patted the ground by her side. Reinhardt obliged, his eye following her little smile. The oasis could be damned.

"Are you sure you are not a princess of this lands?" He asked, lying on his side, head on his hand. "A princess commanding djinns and knights with golden scimitars and turbans, with hundreds of tigers and elephants at your waiting at your palace made of white sand."

She covered her mouth a bit as she laughed, her eye full of mirth. This Ana, the one that returned to him, was different. She was more casual, more relaxed. Laughed more often, even if her tongue was as sharp as it had always been. It was difficult to say, but she seemed content with what she had got–-even if that was a huge old shirt and a bit of bread to eat. Wherever she had been during those years, whatever she had endured, it had changed her–and he could not complain about the results.

"That sure comes from one of your old films."

"Ah, yes. The princess dressed in plain clothes to see her people and the world. Just like you do. Cannot convince me of otherwise."

"What good would do me to be a princess? Besides, I've never wanted a prince charming," she waved a hand softly.

"I'm glad. Could have killed Jack for you."

She looked at him between amused and shocked, but someone cleared his throat before she could say anything.

"You've got to be kidding me," a voice came from their back. Reinhardt was about to turn, but Ana grabbed his arm to avoid it. Bummer.

It was a man, though his voice sounded distorted as if he was wearing some sort of mask. The mere thought of having his face covered in that heat made him sweat.

"We talked about this. We cannot trust–"

"You can trust Reinhardt," she said, relaxed against the palm tree, and their shadowy companion snorted. There was something familiar about that sound, but he could not pinpoint what would it be. "We are on our way to one of the Overwatch's watchpoints. Join us."

"You've lost your mind."

Reinhardt narrowed his eyes. He was not impressed so far with Ana's friend, and he was going to get up real soon to show him some manners if he did not change his attitude.

"You cannot take on Reaper alone," Ana said in a calmed voice, looking at the large leaves over her. "He will kill you. He's faster, stronger–"

"And he is in constant pain after Gibraltar," he snorted. "I've been tracking him again, he's in trouble."

"All the better! Maybe we can help him."

"Help him?" He almost choked on his indignation. "No, I won't save his arse this time. I'm not taking him alive, Ana! Not after what–!"

He hit a palm tree in his obvious distress, making all its leaves cause a ruckus of sounds and movements. Whoever this Reaper person was, they clearly shared a past. A bad one. But that did not explain why they wanted to get him. Or why should that involve Overwatch, really.

"Who's this Reaper fellow?"

Ana's face sobered at his question, her mouth pursed.

"Did Winston tell you about someone trying to hack Athena?"

"Yes. A terrorist, he said."

"Pretty much," she snorted. Or sighed. Maybe both. The weight on her shoulders was there again, dragging her down. "Reaper is trying to find Overwatch operatives to kill them."

"So let me get this straight. This Reaper fellow holds a grudge against Overwatch and our hidden friend here is looking for him out of _altruism_ ," he raised an eyebrow, "since he obviously also holds a grudge against us."

"It's complicated."

"Hah."

"He's an agent of Talon," the masked man said, at last, his voice still strained after the outburst. "A bastard. A ghost."

"Not much different from you, then, eh, my friend?"

"Say that again, old man," he spat in rage and hurt, stomping forward and casting a shadow over them. "I dare you."

Reinhardt took a sharp intake of breath. He had heard that before. The mask may muffle his voice, distort it but, If he had learned anything in the past weeks, it was that he did not believe in the word impossible anymore.

He got up slowly and turned around to face him. Spikes of white hair popped off the hoodie covering his head, and a mask with a red visor hid his face–yet he knew that body language. Those fists, the built of his upper body, the strong kicks those legs could deliver.

Jack Morrison.

The last time they saw each other, back in 2070, Reinhardt had ended with several cracked ribs and Jack with a new face. He made fists with his hands, an ugly grin spreading across his face.

"Reinhardt," Ana's voice held a warning, but he was not backing off, no. The day they fought he asked Jack to send someone to look for Ana. He had begged him, even if only to recover her body. The idea of burying an empty urn while she may have been injured and alone, slowly withering away, had been too much for him to bear– and yet, that was precisely what had happened.

"Have you apologized to her?" He said almost between teeth, the smile never faltering from his face. "Have you, now?"

Jack snorted.

"You never knew when to quit," he said, widening his leg stance, getting ready to engage.

"Not when I'm right," he raised his fists. The mask was a bummer, but he could crack that visor with a good punch. He just had to be careful, really careful about his kicks. "Come on!"

There was a blur of movement by his left that his right eye could barely catch, and the world tilted to the right dangerously. Slowly. In front of him, Jack took a step backward in slow motion, and–

 

\-----------------

 

When Reinhardt opened his eyes, he was lying on the ground. Everything still moved slowly as he sat down, his eye wandering until he found a sandal and a leg clad in dark green pants that he followed up.

"Nice curves," he said sheepishly.

A hand found his head and messed his hair before holding him against the lovely leg. He sighed happily, although there was something at the back of his mind poking at him. He was doing something, but he could not remember what was it anymore.

Jack glared. His scarred face was covered in sweat, his eyes dull. He was a sort of twisted reflection of the Strike Commander he knew. Rougher, like an unfinished painting.

"This is exactly why I cannot go back," he said, shaking his head. "He won't be the only one reacting like this. And with reason."

 _Jack_.

Reinhardt moved as fast as his body allowed, his breath caught on his throat, but Ana was there, by his side. Pissed off and glaring, but there. He ran a hand over his face, letting go a groan.

"What did you do to me?" He whined, squeezing her leg. It had been her, that was for sure, because he only ached. If he had fought Jack and had ended on the ground this disoriented, he surely would be bleeding and in several shades of pain.

Ana's hand came back to his hair and then down to his neck, where she pulled out a dart. No, two darts.

"You put me to sleep?"

Her hand ran through his scalp. Jack still glared, though there was something else on his face now. Disappointment, maybe? Hurt. Sadness. He was making fists with his hands, and then Reinhardt remembered. They were fighting, Jack and he. Or about to.

He pushed himself up, wincing as the throbbing in his knee intensified. Bloody sleeping darts. Bloody falling to the ground, and bloody Jack. He still wanted to punch him in the face, but he would probably get a beating right now.

Unfair.

"Nobody blames you for what happened at Headquarters," she said, grabbing Reinhardt by the waist. It did not help him much since he would never push his weight on her, but he always appreciated the gesture. "We all know how hard you tried to keep–"

"Gabe in line, yes," he snorted, lowered his head. Then, he put back his stupid mask on. "And see how well it went. No, I failed you all. Won't happen again."

"They don't need a Strike Commander. Winston is leading them, now. Doing a good job of it, too."

 _Them_. THEM? Reinhardt froze at her choice of words.

"Good. It's–I'm glad. Still–"

"Stop being stubborn, Jack. We talked about this, we can't win this alone. You may not want to help him, but I do. I want him back, if possible. And if not, I want him out of his misery for good."

Oh, boy. That Reaper guy was Gabriel. Of course, he was, because Jack would do anything for him, and Ana would do anything for them both, even traveling to the bloody end of the world and forsake her family and friends for years.

And him.

She had never intended to come back to Overwatch; she was just looking for help with Jack and Gabriel.

They talked some more, but his brain refused to translate English any longer. He took the cap off and rubbed the back of his head, messing his hair.

"Ah, I'll wait for– I'll just be on the plane," he took a step backward, untangling himself from her. "Leg hurts when standing."

Another shameful retreat to add to his never-ending list.

 

\-----------------

 

Ana came to a while later, her soft steps sounding only because she chose to. Reinhardt had been sharing beers with the pilot, which was a decent fellow that had traveled around the globe transporting all short of shady people. He was quite talkative, which was just great, because he did not feel like saying anything himself.

"Mind if I join you?" She asked while holding her hands together, and the pilot offered her a beer. "Ah, no thanks. But I would take some water, if you have to spare?"

The guy got up and disappeared into the cargo bay, moment Ana took to sit by Reinhardt's side.

"Do you need a shot?" She asked, noticing he was holding the beer bottle against his knee when he was not drinking.

"I'm good."

There was a moment of silence after his curt answer.

"Are you angry at me?"

He shook his head. He was not angry, he truly was not, even if she had banged his knee twice in three days intentionally. She had a different way of thinking, of solving problems. He had learned that long ago and, while it could be incredibly annoying sometimes, it did not anger him.

He was not angry about her secret, either, because he always knew they three shared something the rest did not. But he was hurt and disappointed. So much, he did not even have the will to destroy a punching bag or kill his arms bench-pressing.

"When's Jack coming?"

"He's not, but he'll keep in touch," she and took off the scarf she was using to cover her head, leaving it on her lap.

"I'll break his pretty face _again_ the next time I see him," he shrugged a bit, took a gulp at his drink. "Same goes for Gabriel."

"I could have told you about them," she pursed her mouth and sighed. "Chose not to. I thought you were on good terms with them, you know. I was afraid to smear that memory with–"

"They're nothing but terrorists."

"Jack is–"

"Jack is an outcast that breaks into places, steals things, and kills people. That's a terrorist in my book."

Ana took his free hand with both of his, squeezed it.

"He is a good man, Reinhardt. He's just broken and lost," she looked at him, her eye sad and determined. "But he's still the same Jack that would see us safe when we had a scratch. The same that shared his chocolate with us."

"The same that left you to die."

"I disobeyed his orders," she allowed a little smile to touch her lips as he recoiled. "He did the right thing not sending anyone. Talon would have killed– You don't believe me," she frowned. "I'm telling you the truth."

"Forgive me if I'm skeptical," he got up and limped to the ice fridge to grab another beer. He was skeptical about many things. About her intentions, about Jack's intentions. Even about her feelings, even if pondering about that was a spear through his chest.

What if she was using him? What if she never–

He buried his arm on the ice almost down to the elbow and counted to ten. No. She would not do that to him. Ana could be many things, but she was not intentionally cruel. There was love on her eye, on her smile, on her hands.

 _No_.

"Pilot, my friend, where have you gone to get that water?"

"I'm here," his head popped from the cargo bay. "I was, ah, letting you talk."

"Take us somewhere, will you? I don't care where, but far from this place," Reinhardt got back to where he was sitting and pressed the ice-cold bottle against his knee. He almost sighed. If ice soothed thoughts, he would gladly get his head on the fridge instead of his arm.

"Bring us to Cairo, please," Ana said, crossing her arms over her knees.

Cairo. He did not like the destination, but anywhere would be better than that dessert that represented Jack and Ana's double life. Besides, any place would be good to ask if… well. If there really was any future for them.


	7. Once upon a time

(At night, that same day)

It was already dark when they landed, yet the streets at the city centre were still full of life and people dancing, eating, and having a good time overall. Reinhardt limped slightly by Ana's side, hands on his pockets, shirt impossibly creased.

He had been very quiet during the flight back, and so had been Ana. He had said he was not angry at her, but he was angry–which meant he was hurting over something, and she could not pinpoint what it was. At least, she knew it was not the news about Jack and Gabriel since he went straight looking for a fight with the man for a entirely different reason. Really, she would have punched the light out of both idiots, but she was not sure if her darts would take Jack down.

_Jack_. She sighed. He was stubborn beyond measure. Even if she understood his need for closure with Gabriel, trying to take him in alone –him, and his partners at Talon– was stupid and a suicide. Besides, Gabriel, he– it was impossible to say what he had turned into. She had seen it with her own eyes and still could not believe it. Her mind had actually erased most of the details because he was just _not human_.

It did not matter, though. He was her oldest friend, even if they all had their ups and downs with him during the last years of Overwatch, and she was determined to either help him or put him out of his shadowy misery. Any ending would hopefully help Jack find some peace as well.

Then, and only then, they could try to take down Talon.

Ana grabbed Reinhardt's arm when he was about to wander into an undesirable street and headed him towards a hotel that had always been around. It was old and poorly painted, but it was also incredibly discreet –which was exactly what they needed. The clerk at the front desk was a bit skeptical of them, even disapproving, but some extra money up-front granted them a pair of keys and a small room with a window.

"I wish you would talk to me other than to ask for food," she said, sitting on the corner of the bed and taking off her sandals. "I cannot fix what I don't know is broken, you know."

He sat on the bed by her side, making the mattress comb and moan pitifully. With a sigh, he got up again.

"I've been thinking of a story," he said, pushing some furniture away to clear a corner of the floor, where he sat leaning against the wall.

"A story?" Ana picked up the pillows, gave them to him so he would get comfortable.

"I can tell you if you'd humour me despite my poor mood today," he looked at her in the eye for the first time in what felt centuries, and Ana sat down by his side, legs crossed. His anger seemed to have lost its edge, but the hurt and sadness were still stubbornly wrapped around him. "Sorry. I'm–"

"Hush now," She reached out for one of his hands and massaged it, feeling tension everywhere on him. If she had learned anything about Reinhardt in their many years together, it was that his stories were never just stories. They were pieces of him, of his friends, of his past– and his present, sometimes. It was rare, though, that he would not discuss directly what was bothering him, but she would take anything that stopped one of his silent moods any day. "I'd love to hear it."

"Once upon a time, the evil Bishop of Adlersbrunn framed a knight unjustly. He managed to escape from the public execution, but he lost everything he held dear but a little falcon," he said, his voice rumbling softly on his chest.

"Was he a handsome knight? With great hair?"

"Of course," he snorted softly. He took his hand away just to grab her waist and pull her against his chest. Then, he squeezed her softly, sighing under his breath. "One day, at a tavern, the knight overheard someone saying they had escaped from Adlersbrunn's prison, which the Bishop commanded. The Bishop had men everywhere, and they tried to apprehend the escapee the moment he opened his big mouth. His beer ruined by the ruckus, the knight fought them all and prevented it."

"He ok? He just saved an escapee… That's not very knight-esque."

"Ah, but he had his reasons. He wanted to get into the Bishop's prison during the eclipse that was due in a fortnight–and the escapee could help him get inside."

"Oh, I see," she kept playing the part of the interested listener, lacing her fingers on his. "I guess he wanted revenge."

"The escapee wanted nothing with the knight, though, and he fled. And that same night, the Bishop's men tried to murder him while on the road. Fortunately for him, a large grey wolf came to his rescue."

"A wolf?"

"The escapee was more terrified of the wolf than of his assassins, but then a lady appeared from the woods. She was beautiful like no one else, her long hair braided over her shoulder. She touched the creature on the head, melting any trace of anger from it, and the wolf rubbed against her side before lying at her feet."

"She has some nice powers, I see…"

"The lady told the escapee that, if he helped the knight, in return they would keep him safe from the Bishop," he hid his nose on the top of her hair and remained silent for a moment, shifting slightly. "The lady and the wolf stayed with him for the night, then disappeared– just for the knight and his falcon to catch up on the road in the morning."

"Isn't that a coincidence?" Ana looked up, searching for his face, one eyebrow raised. He just smiled a bit and kept talking.

"The Bishop's men were really troublesome, you know. Days later, as the little company traveled towards the prison, they ambushed them on the road."

"Oh, no."

"The knight fought valiantly despite getting injured on a leg, but… When the fight was over, his falcon was lying on the ground, a bolt on its chest. He thought it was dead," his voice had lowered, softened, and Ana squeezed his arms around herself, "but there was a flutter of life left on its little body. There was a monastery close by, a place of sanctuary where it lived one of the few friends the knight had, and he sent the escapee there with the falcon, praying his monk friend could do something to help it."

"Why is the falcon so important to him?"

"Because it's his companion. The only thing he could take with him when–" Reinhardt gasped in pain all of sudden, his hand clawing at his right thigh. The muscles on his leg spasmed quite visibly, and he groaned between teeth. Ah, damn. Ana pulled the trousers' leg up as much as it went and worked the cramping muscles and ligaments for several long minutes until he let go a shaky sigh.

At least he was not clad in his armour.

"You really need to do something about this."

"Yeah, stop falling on it, for starters," he chuckled without humour, and she could only feel a bit guilty. "Can't afford the surgery, anyway."

She grabbed the pillow he had been using, doubled it over, and placed his knee slightly bent over it. He did his best to contain a wince, and she rubbed the sore muscles into submission once again.

"I could procure it."

"You're not stealing for this. Absolutely not," he glared, impossibly serious. "It's fine. I'm not jumping off any building or charging unless I really need to."

That would solve nothing if it got bad in the middle of a fight, but he knew that–just as she knew he would keep fighting even if he could not bear any weight on it.

"What about Angela?"

"Ah, she would not approve."

"She doesn't need to approve anything," she snorted. Ana would use her biotic rifle whatever the doctor likes it or not, after all. "She just has to perform the surgery again."

"I'd rather not bother her, really," he made a face, and Ana then remembered she had been in favour of his retirement. That left her without much choice. She would have to find the funds for the knee replacement somewhere. But meanwhile…

"I'll go to the reception to get you some ice unless you want my rif–"

"No," his arms wrapped tightly around her, and she could feel his still-fast heartbeat against her, his warmth engulfing her like a living entity. "Need to finish the story, first."

So, it was _that_ important. Ana had an idea about where the story was going, but she could not fathom how it tied up with their present selves, yet.

"Fine, then," she rubbed his arms. "What happened to the falcon?"

"The escapee brought it to the monastery, where the knight's friend bandaged it," he continued, letting go of her a little bit. "But, at night, the escapee noticed something amazing: the falcon turned into the beautiful lady, injury and all."

"So, the wolf is the knight? And, ah–he's in love with the falcon. The lady, I mean," she smiled, and he snorted softly.

"Yes. But the Bishop was in love with her, too. In his jealousy, he cursed them both to be together but apart. He would be human during the day and wolf at night; and the opposite for her."

Now, that was an interesting take on their lives.

"But, how are they getting back to their normal selves?"

"Well," he shifted again under her. "The only way to break the curse was to face the Bishop during the eclipse, which was the only time the knight and the lady could see each other in their human form."

"Ah, that's why he wanted to get into the prison by then."

"They had been waiting for years now. Many years. It was now or never," his breath was warm on the top of her head, his large hands rested on her lap, with her hands. "And so there they went, to Adlersbrunn's prison, the falcon, the escapee, the monk, and the knight and--well."

Ana looked up at his face when he stopped talking. He was pursing his mouth in a way his whiskers stood up.

"So… how does it end?"

"I don't know," he took one of her hands. "It's been many years. Is what brought them together in the first place strong enough, or are they too changed now? They've got used to living differently. They know different people, have--attachments. Different goals. Allegiances to take care of."

Reinhardt stopped talking, but his thumb kept caressing her hand. Ana bit her lower lip. So he was worried they had grown apart during these years, not in affection, but in everything else.

"Are we that different, you think? It's true I am an outlaw. But I have been trying to do good wherever I have been– healing others, helping instead of killing. And is not that what you had been doing while traveling around with Brigitte?"

He nodded softly.

"And I still have the same goal I've always had," she got on her knees to be able to look at him in the eye. "I want to keep my family safe. Fareeha. You. Torb, Brigitte, Winston, Lena, Jess–"

"Yet you never came back because of any of us, nor because of Overwatch," he said, rubbing his hair, leaving it half in silver spikes. "You just wanted to help Jack, get Gabriel back."

There was the anger again, dressed as the bleeding wound of always having felt like second-class. Ana wished, really wished, that her stupid super-soldiers had friends, someone that watched their backs just like Reinhardt had–but Jack would never trust anyone again, and Gabriel… oh, Gabriel.

"Yes," Ana took a deep breath, nodded. "Something happened to both of them when the building blew up. You saw Jack, and Gabriel is not even himself," her fingers curled over his arms. "If I don't help them, who will?"

"Yeah, well," he snorted. Or sighed. It sounded sad and defeated. "I guess you were never meant to come back to us."

"Overwatch will never be Overwatch without them, not for me– But that doesn't mean I'm going anywhere."

"And what will happen when both Jack and us need you? Who would you choose, then?"

"Reinhardt–"

"I'd never cut your falcon wings, _maus_ , but I need to know," his voice almost cracked, and she closed her eye for a moment.

Her poor crusader.

She was guilty of pushing him away, yes. Guilty of loving her two stupid super-soldiers almost as much as she loved him. Guilty of choosing them over him many times to keep him out of her mind. But, no more. She had made her last pick but, apparently, she had not been clear enough about it. That, or he had thirty years of good reasons to believe she would forsake him.

"Growing old has taught me that relationships are one-half trust, one-half compromise. Or maybe it was one-half promises and one-half truths," she shrugged. "Something like that. Truth is, I can't give up on that pair of old idiots," she said slowly, feeling his arms tense under her fingers. "I hope you can understand that."

He nodded, looking down. Silent. Ana bit her lip and took his face in his hands, caressed his scarred cheek. Being this honest was making her hair gray even further, but she owed him that much.

"Overwatch is important to you. It is the embodiment of your family, I understand that. And I hope we can find a compromise between your family and my family since, well," he looked up, a speckle of hope on his eyes, and she smiled. "I would like very much to stay by your side, for all the time you want me. Which I hope is lots."

He leaned on her touch as Ana scratched his beard softly, waiting. There was a time he had been a very vocal, straightforward, eager person– now things took a bit more time. Some things, at least.

"How can I trust a sniper?" He said, looking at her in the eye, his voice barely a murmur. "You've no honour."

"That's true," Ana wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "So I'll hold on to you until you believe me."

Reinhardt grabbed her in a bear hug, all the tension on his body melting against her. It felt right. She was in the right place, in the right moment, with the right person. He was the right choice, and her old, squeezed bones could not agree more.

"I'd like nothing more."

~Fin

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
And then, after some time, some more discussions, and many more hugs, he went back to being the loud crusader he's in game.

For all those that don't know their classics, Rein's story is _LadyHawke_.


End file.
